Rain Lily
by sa-mu-uu
Summary: As Zoro's eyes fall on the endless water, something in the back of his mind clicks and he knows that, despite Sanji's previous uncertainty, this is obviously the end. [ZoSan/Modern School AU] Warning: Horror and Angst themes. Written for the ZoSan Secret Valentine exchange


This is dedicated to tumblr user iggysgirl89 for the ZoSan Secret Valentine exchange. I'm really sorry that it's late; I had to finish this up at Katsucon because I procrastinated like crazy. OTL Even after a bunch of cutting, I'm still over 7k... I'm sorry about that too! Man, I really dropped the ball on this one, huh? It was a ton of fun, though. This is my first time experimenting with a horror-based theme; pretty sure I need some more practice. :u But I do hope you enjoy it at least a little bit.

Happy belated Valentine's Day!

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings six times. With a disgruntled groan, Zoro opens his eyes.

There's a shitty blond cook perched on top of his desk, singing a mindless tune that echoes off of the walls of their deserted classroom. The rest of their peers have long since left for the day, but Zoro has a penchant for staying late; to enjoy the peace, if only for a little while.

After a minute, the boy's melody fades and he lets out a light, chilled sigh. "Hey, marimo," he begins, bloodied feet swinging idly in the air as he speaks. "...Let's go out today."

The words are ones Zoro has heard countless times; practically every day, in fact. But he doesn't tire of them. And he's fairly certain he never will.

A glossy sheet of soft blond catches the setting sunlight from the windows as the boy tilts his head to the side. For a moment, Zoro can see the cloudy haze painted over both of his eyes like a thick fog. It creates a veil over his natural vibrant blue, but doesn't stifle it completely; nothing ever could.

"Sure, why not. I'm free today."

Sanji slides off of Zoro's desk with a contented smile, landing on the toes of his shoes with a nearly inaudible click. "Where?"

"Same as always, I guess."

The boy shrugs and nods silently, shoving his hands into his pockets as they make their way to the door.

By their lockers, he hears one girl whisper to another. "Why won't he just leave..? It's so creepy, y'know?"

"Yeah... It'd be better if he just disappeared, already."

There's an awkward shift in the air, but Sanji says nothing. He smiles softly, that sort of smile that tugs at his lips with an uncomfortable twitch, and turns his gaze to the floor. Sanji understands how they feel; but Zoro doesn't.

Zoro grabs his books, slamming his locker door shut a bit harder than necessary. The girls jump on their toes, eyes flickering to him before they register the blond's presence and look away with guilty expressions. But they don't apologize; nobody ever does.

Lucky for them, the town beyond their school grounds holds no such judgmental atmosphere; it's easy to blend in when surrounded by people who don't know them. If Sanji shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps his head down as strangers pass by, he looks almost normal. Almost.

The boy saunters casually along next to him, his gaze caught on something invisible on the ground as they pass storefront after storefront. "You... lunch?" He says in a questioning tone, peering over at Zoro from underneath that meticulously-styled, thick curtain of hair. He flashes a bright smile, the real kind, and Zoro's irritation evaporates like rainwater under the sun.

"Am I hungry, you mean?" Zoro asks, mulling it over when Sanji nods in reply. Yes, he most certainly was hungry, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to deal with that fact at the moment. His companion is usually incredibly picky about eating establishments, especially for someone who doesn't eat; and Zoro prefers to avoid dealing with that whenever possible. "No, not right now."

Sanji shoots him a deadpan look, giving his stomach a pointed glance as it makes a noise on cue, but he says nothing.

It isn't that he doesn't want to say anything, but rather, he tries to avoid doing so whenever possible. The words that Sanji can use are drastically limited, these days. And sometimes his voice will skip or repeat, like a disc that's been scratched beyond repair. It's one of many things about him that have changed for the worse in the past month. But he's learned to endure without his rich vocabulary, opting these days to shoot Zoro a myriad of colorful expressions to get his point across instead. It works out well, in its own way. It turns almost every situation into a guessing game, though, and Zoro had never been good at that sort of thing.

Although he would never admit it aloud, he really does miss the blond's creative insults. He longs for the days of listening to the boy wordsmith for hours, even if it had almost always been at his own expense.

Then again, there are a lot of things about Sanji that he misses.

"It's fine, really."

"But-"

"I mean it, quit worrying."

"_But-_"

"Please, stop! Give it back!" Their conversation is cut off by a sharp falsetto scream coming from the alley to their right. The voice clearly belongs to a woman; one Zoro doesn't know. Already, he can feel a headache setting in.

Sanji bristles, standing on edge as he reflexively bolts from Zoro's side to make a beeline for the opening between the buildings. A dark scowl overtakes his face as he studies the scene from an inconspicuous angle. Zoro sucks in a breath and reaches for the bokken sword sticking halfway out of his backpack. He knows what that look means. That damn jackass and his unrestrained white knighting; his inexhaustive tendency to defend women, even strangers, was far from new. If Zoro acts quickly enough, however, he can save the blond the trouble of what he's going to do next.

He approaches Sanji's side with caution, careful not to startle him. In his current volatile state, to do so could be unnecessarily dangerous. He takes in the scene before them in silence; two lanky men, one holding a stylish bag in his hands that clashed suspiciously with his rugged outfit. Zoro had a feeling it belonged to the teary-eyed girl in the light green sundress on the other side of the thin walkway. His fingers wrap tightly around the hilt; bringing down those thieves would be a cakewalk.

But before Zoro can so much as blink, the men drop to their knees, shivering violently and dry heaving with awful wretching noises that reverberate off of the brick walls on either side of them. They're horrified, clutching their stomachs as their suddenly bloodshot eyes dart around in search of some source of relief from the suffocating stress their bodies were undoubtedly undertaking. Zoro knows from unfortunate experience that they won't find any.

"God, make it stop!" One of the men screams in a choked, suffocating inflection. But if Sanji can hear his plea, he doesn't show it. His heel stomps against the ground with a sharp click, and the man hacks up a dark pool of blood with a violent cough. They're completely and utterly incapacitated, and they have no idea what even happened to them.

The woman is unaffected by the blond's infliction, but borderline hysterical. Grabbing her belongings from the pavement with shaky hands, she rushes out of the alley and past them without so much as a glance. She doesn't thank Sanji for his assistance; but then again, why would she? To the untrained eye, he'd done nothing. But Zoro knows better.

"Hey, curly brows... You really should just let me take care of things like that. You'll tire yourself out."

"Fuck off. It's... okay." But Zoro can tell he's lying; there's a twitch in the blond's hand, as he reaches for a cigarette, for the split second in which he forgets that he doesn't have any. It's his nervous tick; one he's had for years.

The other pair of currently very disabled gentlemen still haven't noticed their presence, being more than a little preoccupied, but an uneasy feeling that they could be drawing attention to themselves hits Zoro regardless. "We shouldn't stay here," he says, resting a hand on Sanji's shoulder.

"...Yeah. -'s go."

Sanji doesn't particularly enjoy hurting people, but sometimes it's impossible for him to hold back. His temper is another one of those things that had gotten worse, in the past month. As if it hadn't been fucking impossible to satiate before. But now it's sudden; difficult to predict. Difficult to restrain. But that's what Zoro's job is. Sometimes he does the job well, and sometimes he goes a little soft. Love can have that sort of effect on people, he figures.

Leaving behind two shivering lumps of men in their wake, they continue their walk as if nothing had happened.

Eventually they settle in on the edge of the fountain in the middle of town. It's a spot they've come to visit habitually; despite being designed to be the epicenter of city life, the weekdays find it to be nearly empty in the evening.

Sanji had taken a special liking to that fountain; he kicks off his tattered shoes and rolls his pants up to stick his feet in the water. The liquid is tainted a bit by his entry, but nothing ever seems to wash off of his skin; another unquestionable mystery that Zoro has opted to leave alone.

For whatever reason, they've developed an unspoken ritual that, in moments like these, Zoro would take out his cellphone and google search pictures of the ocean for the other boy. Sanji's physical form doesn't mesh well with touch screens, so he can't do it himself; but in a strange sort of way, it wasn't exactly a terrible bonding experience.

This time, Sanji selects an underwater photo to examine more closely; there are all sorts of fish in it that Zoro couldn't possibly even attempt to name. He can sort of understand why the blond is so interested in them, though; they're impressively colorful and interesting to look at. But a light appears in Sanji's eye as he studies the picture, one that Zoro never sees outside of these moments, and he briefly wonders if they are actually looking at the same thing.

They rest there for a while in silence, studying the picture together until Sanji finally swings his legs up to the other side of the fountain wall.

"It's… cold," he grumbles under his breath, eyes burning holes into the cobblestone street beneath them. He doesn't shiver, but his teeth are gritted uncomfortably. Zoro lets out a sigh through his nose, and shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders to drape the heavy fabric over his companion.

He's rewarded with a surprised look, and something deep in Zoro's chest twists. "Is that better?" He asks, slipping his cellphone back into his pocket.

After a moment of contemplation, Sanji laughs, his toothy grin catching the light of the streetlamp above them. "No."

Of course it wouldn't help, it never did. But the gesture gives them some strange semblance of normalcy, and Zoro appreciates that. "I'm pretty warm, actually. Maybe you're just turning into a wimp."

The blond snorts at this, rolling his eyes as he gives Zoro's shoulder a half-hearted shove. But his grossly defiled fingers curl into the jacket fabric, pulling it tighter over his shoulders. "This... isn't terrible."

"Yeah, yeah. You're welcome."

On the way back home, neither of them speaks a word about the ambulances and cop cars crowding the alley on the other side of the street.

xxx

"Hey, marimo, let's - out today."

"We can't. We're on cleaning duty today, remember?"

There's a short pause while the other boy stares back at him with an unsettlingly uncharacteristic, blank look. "Ah... yeah." Sanji finally nods in agreement and slides off of the top of his own desk, narrowly avoiding tipping over the vase of white flowers placed meticulously in the middle as he went. It's always risky business, telling the blond that they have to break their typical protocol, but cleaning duty was cleaning duty. He'd have to either put up, or shut up. This time, however, he seems to go with the flow just fine.

Zoro makes quick work of cleaning the desks and windows; their classmates for the most part are tidy, so there isn't really much work to be done.

Given his precarious state, Sanji can't help much with the cleaning, but he sticks around regardless. Whether because he didn't want to leave his side or because he had nothing better to do, Zoro couldn't be sure.

"Hey, - helped," Sanji chimed in, pointing victoriously to the trashcan that, at some point, had managed to accumulate some larger pieces of garbage.

Zoro nods sagely, setting a pair of freshly cleaned erasers back on the podium at the front of the room. "Good work. Now if only we could fit you in there, too."

"Bastard, - you," Sanji retorts, spitefully giving the trash receptacle a swift kick. It doesn't even budge, much to the blond's irritation. He tries a few more times, and on the fourth kick, it inches a bit toward the wall. That wasn't nearly the effect he'd been hoping for, so he reels his leg back for another try.

In an attempt to stop the blond from making a damn fool of himself, Zoro grabs his hand, the one that still bears fingers, and intertwines them together. "I'm done, you know. How about we just get out of here, cook? You wanna stop by the garden on the way?"

Sanji's expression twists into a rebellious pout, but he says nothing. After a moment of silent contemplation, he shrugs and nods, feigning indifference. It isn't hard to see the excited glimmer in his eye at the mention of their destination, however.

Much to their pleasure, the air outside is warm with the thick, humid breeze of late spring; a far cry from yesterday's weather. The melodic sounds of the symphony club drift from open windows on the second floor. Some first-years are cheering loudly from the baseball field halfway across campus. There's nobody else on the side of the school that they occupy, however.

That wasn't too surprising, though; ever since they instated the gardening club a few years ago, that little corner of the school grounds was only ever really occupied by them and a small handful of others; nobody else had the guts to even walk near the place where Sanji had chosen to grow their plants. On the few occasions that some poor bastards were unfortunate enough to accidentally step on some of the vegetables or flowers, Sanji had twisted their arms to work in his family's restaurant in order to repay the damage. _To learn the beauty and importance of life and food_, the blond had always explained. Needless to say, word got around fast that, if you knew what was good for you, it would be best to keep a safe distance.

Sanji had all but forced him to join, in the beginning; Zoro had been so vehemently against it at first, but he can't even remember why. It hadn't conflicted with any of his other club activities, and had even gotten him extra credit in Home Ec., so what reason could he possibly have had? It seems like such a stupid, petty argument in retrospect.

But the club is nothing but a not-so-distant memory to him, now. The school garden committee had been disbanded a month ago, and the plants had been relocated to various teachers' houses to continue growing with proper care. Even so, the memories are still very much there. Although he would never admit it, Zoro hopes they'll never fade.

Sanji pulls ahead of him, approaching the dirt squares with a spring in his step that contrasts strangely with the way he swaggers with his hands shoved in his pockets. He promptly drops to his knees in front of the barren patch, taking an eyeful of the crops that aren't there anymore. But if he registers the fact that they're missing, he doesn't show it.

If Zoro closes his eyes, he can still smell them; he can still feel Sanji's heat against his back as they admired their handiwork together. But they are definitely, without a doubt, gone forever.

"The rain lilies - looking beautiful, don't you think, marimo?"

The blond runs a careful finger through the dirt, and Zoro wonders briefly if the other boy really can still see them. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing about him.

"...Yeah. They look good."

Judging based on previous experience, the likelihood of them leaving the area any time soon is small, so Zoro takes a seat next to him on the ground. With a not entirely uncomfortable lull in conversation, his hand drifts to his pocket without much thought. But Sanji raises an eyebrow in his direction before he catches himself, so Zoro rolls with the subconscious reflex and pulls out his phone. Like clockwork, the blond understands and squirms into the space between his legs to lean against his chest.

He lets out an almost inaudible sigh as Zoro skims through the images. After a few pokes, the touch screen finally recognizes Sanji's actions and zooms in on one. He's chosen a sunset scene this time, one that sets the water ablaze with beautiful oranges and reds. There aren't any weird fish to look at this time, but it was eye-catching all the same.

Something about the heartwarming image and the soft music in the distance twists his guts in an awful way, and he spins the other boy around to face him with firm hands. "I really love you." It's far from the first time he's said those words, but they hold just as much weight as they ever had.

The breeze around them shifts noticeably, and for a moment, the air feels even warmer than before. "I, uh," Sanji swallows thickly, leaning back in a discernible attempt to act cool. "Y-yeah, that." But his visible eye screams what he truly means. He would never have the right words to say it; Zoro has come to accept this.

To make up for his unsuitable response, Sanji grabs his hand and places an affectionate kiss on the back of his palm. The gesture leaves a chill on his skin, but that detail is the furthest thought from his mind.

"If I take you there," Zoro started, lifting his image on his phone back into Sanji's line of sight. "Are you going to, you know... move on?"

Sanji pauses and gives him a sullen look, slowly shaking his head. "Don't... know."

"I thought that sort of thing was supposed to be instinctual, or something."

He simply frowns in response, staring a hole into the ground with that sort of grimace he wore whenever he was deeply puzzled by something.

"We can't stay like this forever," Zoro adds; as much as part of him wishes they could. But he can't do that to himself. He can't do that to Sanji.

The other boy seems to mull this over for a moment, lips pressing into a tight line. "I… know that, idiot."

"It'll probably be fine," he muses, idly running his hand through his locks of dull gold. "When you disappear, I'll follow you."

"No, you'd… - lost."

"What was that? You think I would get lost?" Sanji nods. "You're still a smug little prick even in death, huh?"

He flashes a cocky smile in response, sinking down a bit in Zoro's arms with a comfortable sigh.

They stayed like that for a while, staring silently at the dirt patch in front of them.

"...The rain - are - beautiful... don't - think, marimo?"

"Yeah, curly brows. They're great." Another short spell of silence. "...You know what? Let's go tomorrow."

"Go? To... the rain?"

_Water_, he means. _The ocean_. "Yeah, it's only about a two hour trip. You want to?"

To Zoro's surprise, he nods.

"...In that case, let's skip school tomorrow and go. You can even sleep over at my house tonight, if you feel like it."

Sanji smirks at this, peering up at Zoro with a sultry smile. "Oh? We - fuck?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He scoffs, nudging the blond out of his lap so he can stand. "I was thinking dinner, actually."

xxx

The lighting in his house is low, just the way he likes it. For once, he finds himself feeling grateful that there's no one to come home to.

Sanji runs off toward the kitchen like he owns the place the moment they walk through the door, leaving Zoro behind to pick up his haphazardly discarded shoes and set them down properly in the hall closet. He doesn't so much as flinch when his fingers accidentally slip through the jagged cuts scattered across the leather. He wonders briefly if he should try cleaning off the blood and dirt that caked the inside, knowing that it must have been driving Sanji crazy. But if that were possible, the shoes' unreasonably uptight owner would have undoubtedly done so himself already, so he lets the thought go.

Making his way down the hallway, the cold floorboards creak faintly in protest under his weight. He's been meaning to fix the flooring for a while now, but it isn't worth dwelling on. He knows, deep down, that he'll never get around to it.

In the kitchen, Sanji has already managed to collect an array of dishes and ingredients that, as usual, Zoro had no idea he was in possession of. He takes a seat on one of the bar stools next to the counter, leaning against the tabletop as he watches the other boy get to work. Both Sanji's resounding lack of functioning fingers and wavering physical form do little to help with the food preparation; his enthusiasm, however, is as unparalleled as ever. No matter how many times he witnesses it, watching Sanji in that state always takes his breath away.

But after a few successful slices, his fingers fail, dropping the knife onto the counter with a sharp clatter. "Ah-... I just," he sucks in a hollow breath, lips pressing in a tight line. "Shit. It's okay."

_Give me a minute,_ Sanji's expression seems to say. And so he does.

Watching the blond struggle with something as second-natured to him as handling a knife breaks Zoro's heart in ways few things ever had. But he doesn't show it; he can't stand the prospect of upsetting Sanji with something as worthless as his sympathy. After all, very few things in that world piss off Sanji more than pity does. So, instead, he laughs. "You sure you don't want me to do it?"

"Fuck you, you... shit looking marimo bastard. No."

"That was almost a halfway decent insult. You're getting good at parsing sentences, huh?"

Sanji only snorts in response, indignantly grasping the knife again to make a swift, dexterous slice through the meat.

A meal that should have taken an hour to prepare takes two, but the end product looks just as appetizing as his food ever had. Sanji looks a bit proud of himself as he presents the dish to him. Examining his fork for a moment, Zoro takes a tentative bite, and chews slowly.

Something in the back of his mind begs him to savor the taste, somewhat certain he'll never get the chance again. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he turns his gaze up to the cook. "It's good."

Having gotten the answer he'd very obviously been waiting for, Sanji promptly spins on his heels, making a beeline for the next room over. He does a good job hiding his expression, but the sudden warmth in the house's atmosphere is self-evident. He smirks, knowing full well what that means; Sanji is happy.

When he's finished eating, he leaves the dishes to join him in the living room. Snagging the remote from the coffee table, he turns on the television and flops haphazardly onto the couch where Sanji is lying down.

"Used up too much energy?" Zoro asks, glancing down at him with an amused smile. Zoro never considers anything to be cute; Sanji when he's exhausted, however, might just be an exception. Lucky for him, as it turns out, it's a common occurrence whenever the boy has to interact with tangible objects for any extended period of time. Like when cooking, for instance.

Sanji simply groans in response, stuffing his face into the back cushion of the couch with a hefty sigh.

The man on the television is talking about something mundane; home improvement, or something equally as uninteresting to him. As if on cue to help quell his growing boredom, Zoro feels a hand drift over to roam along his thigh. He tenses reflexively, glancing over to the other boy; his face is still hidden in the cushions, same as before. He can feel the sensation trailing up to his belt, and his breath catches in his throat. "Hey," he starts, his tone a bit more inviting than he'd intended. "What are you doing-"

His voice is cut off by the obnoxious sound of a revving chainsaw coming from the television, and Sanji immediately shoots up in his seat. His eyes narrow in on Zoro, his overly-dilated pupils shrinking to almost nothing. But he's not looking at Zoro; his focus is somewhere else entirely.

The screen that had been illuminating most of the room flickers to black with a loud snap, and Zoro finds himself on his back before he can even blink. There's an overwhelming weight on top of him that smells heavily of smoke and iron, smothering him despite his airways being untouched.

His eyes readjust to the darkness in no time; Sanji is above him, his typically tidy hair scattered messily in a parted sheet across his face as he glowers downward with a nasty sneer. But rather than hiding his expression, it accentuates the alarming combination of fury and hatred in his eyes. "You rotten son of a bitch, I'll kill you!" He screams, his voice hoarse with emotion as his mutilated fingers tear themselves from Zoro's chest to latch onto his throat. "You think I'll die like this?! It doesn't fucking hurt! I'll destroy you-"

"Hey, curly brows! For fuck's sake, get a hold of yourself!" The taste of bile and metal overtakes his mouth, and he forcibly suppresses the urge to vomit. He can feel his blood begin to boil in his veins; but he's not scared. He could never be. Even so, he knows that if Sanji doesn't stop, he could die like this.

"No! No... No, fuck you!"

No matter how much he jerks around under that vice grip, the boy doesn't waver. Gritting his teeth, Zoro grabs him by his shoulders as tightly as he can manage and gathers as much strength as he can to force them both up to a sitting position. "Sanji! Damn it, wake up!"

There's a spark of recognition in his eyes, and a long pause follows as the boy's heavy breathing calms and his hands slip from Zoro's throat. His eyes are shifting all over as he tries to get a bearing on the situation. When he finally seems to come to an understanding, he settles back onto the floor. For a split second, Zoro thinks he can see tears.

"I... ah, fuck," he grumbles, pulling his knees to his chest as his shoulders tensed. "- you hurt...?"

Zoro runs an exhausted hand through his hair and shrugs, deciding inwardly to ignore the fact that his lungs feel like they've shriveled up and died. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Sanji doesn't respond. He hides his face behind his knees, and rummages fruitlessly around in his back pocket for cigarettes that were, again, not there.

"...Maybe you should get some rest," Zoro suggested, but then again, he isn't entirely sure the boy even ever needs to sleep anymore. But he supposes the offer couldn't hurt.

Again, there is no response. With an annoyed frown, Zoro stands up and takes a step toward him. Without warning, he lifts Sanji from his spot on the floor, duly noting the passive sound of objection that passes the boy's lips as his face buries into Zoro's chest.

"Where -...?" He finally speaks up, wrapping his arms over Zoro's shoulders for balance as they make their way up the staircase.

"My room, moron. Unless you feel like sleeping on the floor."

Sanji doesn't argue, staying silent and relatively unmoving until Zoro opens the door to his bedroom and unceremoniously drops him on the mattress.

"Go ahead and get in bed. I'm going to shower, alright?"

Sanji nods, looking up at him but not quite meeting his eyes; the guilt is practically written all over his face. But Zoro would deal with that eventually. For now, it would be best to give the other boy some alone time.

When he comes back to the room some time later, Sanji is still in the same exact position on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a blank look. Zoro hates when he wears that expression; so vacant, like he's a hollow shell rather than a person. Then again, maybe that isn't far from the truth. He tries not to think like that, though.

Before Sanji has the chance to notice his presence, he tosses aside the wet towel that'd been used to dry his hair, and slides onto the mattress. He wraps his arms around the boy's waist, smirking in satisfaction at the gasp that filled the silence in his room as his lips graze over Sanji's exposed neck. He wastes no time reaching down to untuck the white shirt from his waistline, briefly enjoying the feel of Sanji's cool temperature on his warm, post-bathing hands.

It isn't until the blond nearly flings himself forward that Zoro remembers how unreasonably ticklish he is. "No... No, please don't...!" He laughs under his breath, squirming as Zoro's fingers continue to trace up and down his bare sides. But the reason why Sanji has those words to use in the first place tugs violently at Zoro's memory. And then he remembers; he doesn't want to, and tries furiously to keep the thoughts at bay, but he can't help it.

_Zoro put his head in his hands. Half-dried tears stained his cheeks, but the uniformed men on the other side of the table didn't call him out on it. With a hollow click, the recording started again._

_"You won't get away with this! You rotten son of a bitch, I'll kill you! You think I'll die like this?! It doesn't fucking hurt! I'll destroy you sick motherfuckers! I-..." The familiar voice stopped short, and only the sound of heavy breathing and rattling of something heavy emitted from the speakers. There's another sound, a voice that was too muffled and quiet to be intelligible, followed by the clacking sound of feet being planted firmly on concrete as the rattling started again. "No… no, _no_, fuck you. Go to hell. Who fucking cares how long he takes? I'll wait. Cut me up, I don't give a shit. It doesn't hurt!" Another pause. "Wait... No, no, not that, please, don't, don't you fucking dare-" With an agonizingly blood-chilling scream, the machine clicked off._

_"We understand losing loved ones can be difficult to process. _ _Do you need a minute?" One of them asked. But a minute or a lifetime made no difference; time held no meaning to him, now._

_Zoro's eyes raised to meet theirs. With a dull stare, he slowly shook his head._

Sanji isn't in his grasp anymore. He's standing next to the bed with his arms folded across his chest, frowning testily. "You… sick?"

"Huh? Uh… no," Zoro shakes his head. "Just thinking."

Sanji snorts at this, clearly unimpressed.

Looking at him now, Zoro can almost believe that everything in the past month had been a horrible dream. If he looks past Sanji's torn up feet, his mangled hands, the dark lacerations around his neck, and only focused on the tenacious expression his face held, he could almost convince himself that nothing had happened.

As if reading Zoro's mind, Sanji reaches up and pulls the thin black tie from his neck. His defiled fingers work through the buttons of his shirt, and he keeps eye contact as inch after inch of his flesh is exposed. The shirt slips to the ground without a sound; and for the first time in a month, Zoro has to choke back a sob that catches in his throat. No, there's no denying the truth in what had happened.

"- doesn't hurt," Sanji says in a grave tone, his brow furrowing as he tosses the clothes over near Zoro's desk. He makes no move to hide his injuries as he stands there.

If only the boy's hands had been the worst of it. Deep, uneven cuts scatter across his chest and arms; the deepest of which seem to have been amateurishly stitched back together with shabby black thread, and torn open again by hand strength alone or something equally as barbarous. Zoro can tell the blade that had inflicted the wounds had been dull; the pain must have been excruciating. There are claw marks on his hips, tearing into his pale, ethereal skin straight down to the bone. The coarse trail of hair leading past his waistband is caked with dried blood, dyeing the already dark hair an even deeper rust brown color.

Looking his body over, Zoro has no idea what he's supposed to say. "I don't think I ever really apologized... for not making it in time."

Sanji shakes his head, crawling back into the bed with an irritated frown. "Don't."

"I should have been there. I could have done something."

"Stop."

"If I'd found you in time, maybe-"

"_Stop_!" He growls, forcing Zoro back onto the mattress by his shoulders. "Marimo, please… fucking stop."

The plea in his tone is so palpable, he has no choice but to comply. Flipping their positions with ease, he settles on his knees over Sanji and slowly places a line of kisses down his stomach, stopping only to give extra attention to the wounds along the way. He pours every ounce of emotion he can muster into the action, opting to express his apology in the only other way he knows how. He can feel thin legs wrap around his hips, twitching ever so slightly when his tongue drifts a bit too close to his belt.

Sanji twists into the sheets with an airy moan, but the blankets don't shift nearly as much as they should have. It's as if the bed itself is trying to reject Sanji's presence as truth; the inconsistency is enough to pull Zoro out of the hazy state he'd fallen into. The boy underneath him looks up with tired eyes when he pauses, and gives him a puzzled look, but says nothing.

Partly in defeat and partly in his own exhaustion, Zoro collapses onto the bed and pulls him close. His ear aligns with Sanji's chest, but there's no heartbeat; only the sound of rolling waves, so faint that he can no longer hear them if he lifts away from the boy's skin.

For the first time in a month, he knows undoubtedly that he's about to make the right choice.

xxx

"Hey, marimo, - go out -."

"That's what we're doing, idiot."

In fact, that's precisely what they are doing; sitting on the bus before the sun has even risen, completely alone save for the driver at the front.

Sanji rolls his eyes, crossing his legs as he leans back in the seat with an irritated expression. Zoro, for the first time in a while, has no idea what the hell his problem is.

One hour passes like that, then another, then a third. Zoro is positive that he's seen the same tree pass by their window at least a dozen times. It doesn't take much consideration to realize that it's Sanji's doing. "Whatever you're up to, quit it."

"What? - not - anything," Sanji replies, but there's a hint of sarcasm in his inflection that is impossible to miss.

"What if the bus driver notices we've been on this same two-mile stretch for an hour?"

Sanji's shoulders tense at this, and his frown deepens. Not quite the response Zoro had been hoping for, so he tries again.

"Do you want to go back home, then? Is that it?" It was more of a taunt than an actual question; he's immediately rewarded with a side blade kick to the shin.

"...Are you worried?" He asks more seriously, glancing back out at the looping scenery outside their window.

Sanji takes in a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling in defeat. "...Maybe."

"Well, don't be."

He settles back with a resigned sigh, nodding so slightly that it's almost imperceptible. They make it to the bus stop within minutes.

When the bus drives off, Zoro realizes that there is nobody in that remote area, either. But that wasn't too out of the ordinary for a beach so early in the morning, especially one so far from any dense population. They make their way across the street, perhaps a bit slower than usual, and kick off their shoes to leave in an untidy pile at the edge of the sand.

As Zoro's eyes fall on the endless water, something in the back of his head clicks and he knows that, despite Sanji's previous uncertainty, this is obviously the end. His mind races, skimming through every memory he could possibly recall; years upon years of pointless bickering, hiding secretly mutual feelings, and sharing ridiculous dreams rushed over him in a fraction of a second. Standing with the sand between his toes, he realizes that, while it was short, it was enough.

"Do you remember that day in second grade, when you kicked me in the chin and broke my tooth?" he asks, watching Sanji take in the scenery. The blond is completely absorbed, but manages to express that he's listening.

"...Yeah, - do."

"Well, that rice ball you gave me as an apology was really terrible."

Sanji's jaw slacks a bit, and he tears his gaze away from the sea to shoot him a look of disbelief. But Zoro doesn't give him the chance to say anything.

"And that time in the gym locker room the week before your fourteenth birthday," he starts again. Sanji blushes profusely at this. "I was lying. Nobody dared me to kiss you; I just wanted to."

"I… knew that," he grumbles, turning back to the water in front of them. "...Stupid."

"What about you? Got any secrets you want to get off your chest?"

"No, because -'m not... an idiot."

He allows the thinly veiled insult to pass, if only to allow Sanji to study the scene in peace. He half-heartedly attempts to tell himself that he's imagining the haze over those blue eyes get thicker, but Zoro is most certainly not an idiot either.

"Sanji..." He starts again, significantly softer this time. "Say something different, just once." The request would take far more energy than Sanji had ever been comfortable using at once, but what would the point in holding back now be?

"I, uh..." He bites his lip, reaching for his back pocket again. But he pauses when his hand reaches his side, and he steels himself, fists clenching as he throws caution to the wind. "Shit, I-... Argh! Damn it, promise me- ...you won't fucking get lost, okay, Zoro?"

In any other situation, he would have needed a moment to process the mind-numbing feeling of hearing the love of his life speak his name for the first, and presumably last time; but there's a look of desperation in Sanji's eyes that calls for his immediate action. There's no time to mull it over.

He tugs Sanji by his shirt collar into a crushing kiss, nearly falling over into the sand as the blond meets him halfway, and throws his arms over his shoulders using every ounce of his reckless momentum. For a moment, he swears he can feel the familiar warmth of Sanji's flawless, thin hands running aimlessly through his hair. The tongue that demands entrance to his mouth is so much hotter than he remembers, but the sensation is fading too quickly, slipping through Zoro's fingers as his grip tightens to keep ahold of his being.

He doesn't open his eyes again until his arms feel empty; and there's not a soul among the sand but himself. Alone, he stands vacantly and stares out at the sea. Looking at it now, he can understand why Sanji felt so drawn to it; if he had to have some sort of "unfinished business", it might as well have been something as beautiful as this.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings seven times. School would be starting soon, wouldn't it? But he's far away from that building, now. It doesn't matter.

When the cold water touches his feet, he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; and as he steps further and further into the salty waves, he doesn't bother to take in another.

For the first time in his life, he knows for a fact that he won't get lost. There's only one place left for him to go.

* * *

Thanks for reading! See ya next time!


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